|
|
To the Virgins, Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles today,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
and while ye may, go marry;
For having lost just once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674 )
Related Articles:
Under the Harvest Moon
Untitled
Upon Julia's Clothes
We Play at Paste
What If I Say
When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
When We Two Parted
Who Ever Felt as I
To our knowledge this poem is in the public domain. If you believe we have infringed any copyright laws please contact us and the offending material will be removed immediately.
The poetry on this site is for entertainment purposes only. See Full Disclaimer for more information.
|
| |
